


Fuck Tibet

by SongAboutExiles



Series: Our Better Angels [2]
Category: Highlander: The Series
Genre: Canon Disabled Character, Falling In Love, M/M, hopelessly romantic, shameless fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-24
Updated: 2018-02-24
Packaged: 2019-03-23 12:51:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13788144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SongAboutExiles/pseuds/SongAboutExiles
Summary: After his night with Mac, Methos goes to say goodbye to Joe. Only it doesn't quite happen the way he'd planned.





	Fuck Tibet

After Mac left, it hadn't taken Methos very long to pack a single bag and contemplate his goodbyes. There was only one person he cared about in Paris, and he'd be damned if he just disappeared on the man without seeing him one more time.

The bar was still technically closed, but a barback answered his insistent knocking and let him in with a sigh. Oh yes, the tragic tale of Adam Pierson and his never-ending bar tab. He was a legend in these parts. Methos made straight for the bar and found Joe right where he expected, doing an inventory.

"Hey, old man." Joe put down his clipboard and smiled. Or at least he smiled until he saw the bag that Methos plonked down next to himself. 

"And a very good day to you, old man," Methos answered, a half-smile quirking his lips. 

"You're leaving. For good this time?" Joe stared balefully at the bag, then balefully at Methos. 

Methos nodded slowly, studying the man's face. Such a handsome face, it was, too - full of character and suffering and yet all the more beautiful to him for it. "I'm afraid so."

"Because of Mac?" Joe reached under the bar and pulled out a bottle of Scotch - Islay, because Joe noticed things, and poured them each a stiff drink. 

"Are you number one on his bloody speed dial?" Methos wasn't even surprised. He just took his Scotch and drank a healthy amount of it. "I assume he told you the lurid details. And here I thought he was a gentleman who would never fuck and tell."

Joe grunted a laugh at that. "Only when his conscience is bothering him."

"When isn't his conscience bothering him?" Methos shook his head. "What else has he told you? Everything? About me?"

Joe paused and regarded Methos levelly over the top of his glass. "He told me right after Bordeaux. Ostensibly because he wanted to know if I had any details in the chronicles on the Four Horsemen."

"And yet I'm still sitting here drinking your good Scotch." It didn't really add up - he's sure that Mac painted the most dire and bloody and horrible picture of him possible. "Haven't you heard? I'm a monster."

One trying not to feel millennia of crushing guilt and very recent anger crushing him flat. He expected what he'd got from Mac. But the idea that Joe might turn him away twisted at his guts like Kronos in a bad mood.

Joe lowered his voice. "No. You're ancient beyond comprehension. Who am I to judge?"

"I'm just a guy, Joe. You know that."

"So which is it? A monster or just a guy?" Joe never had let him off easy. Always challenging him, either out of sheer cussedness or because he expected the best out of him and was disappointed when he didn't get it. 

He must be very fucking disappointed right now.

Methos would miss the constant bickering. Almost as much as he'd miss the music, the long nights over a bottle, the shocking intelligence, the gorgeous hands that were now laid flat on the top of the bar. 

"Both. Somehow, both." Despite how far and fast he'd run from his time with Kronos, he knew which he wanted to be, and which he despised. And, gods above, was he just, simply, tired. 

"Methos. Mac...Mac is still an innocent in too many ways. He's been lucky. In all his life, his battles have been grand things fought for grand reasons, like 'freedom'." Joe managed an over the top Scottish accent for the last word, making Methos laugh unexpectedly. "What I'm getting at is that I was in Vietnam. I know about wars that are dirty, awful, horrible...where innocents suffered in untold numbers for nothing more than American imperialism. And I'm not just talking about the soldiers, even though most of them were snot-nosed teenagers when someone gave them a rifle and pointed them at an enemy that was often impossible to identify. No, I'm talking about the women, the children, the old people who suffered unimaginable horrors."

"So...you're saying you were a monster once?" Not his Joe. Surely not. 

"I'm saying that in basic training they took your brain, scrambled it, and taught you to do nothing but follow orders. Even if those orders were to burn villages down. Shoot the women and children the Viet Cong used as human shields. Turn rice paddies and patches of jungle into killing fields where you found yourself knee-deep in blood and guts." Joe took a deep breath. "I did monstrous things, Methos. I still have nightmares."

"You know what it's like to be dirty. And for it not to scrub off, no matter how hard you try." Methos hadn't intended to go this deep when he walked in here, but now he couldn't think of anywhere he'd rather be. Anyone else he'd rather be with. 

Joe nodded, and took a deep drink before putting the glass down and his hands on the bar again. "I know, Methos. I know what lies beyond it. The redemption just around the bend. You know it, I assume?"

"Gods, yes. If I save one more person, if I do one more good deed, if I can just...be better, then there it will be, right in front of me. But it's always, yes, just around the bend." In all his many years, he'd never discussed this with another living soul. But baring himself to Joe was stunningly easy. 

"Is that why you're leaving? To try again to go around the bend?"

Methos stood there, glass in hand mindlessly, as his head reeled. How did he know? And just as suddenly, he knew what he had to do. Wanted to do. More than anything.

Setting down his glass, he placed his hands slowly over Joe's on the bar, the sudden shock of skin on skin taking him by surprise even though this was his own damned idea. "I'm saying that I don't want one more regret. Would you come upstairs with me, Joseph?"

Joe didn't pull his hands away, but Methos could see the shock on his face. He looked down at their hands, then back up to Methos' face. "Why? I'm..." Not whole? Not young? Not pretty?

No, Methos thought. It's because Joe was hot, Joe was perfect, Joe needed this as much as he did. But he settled on a simple, "Because you are lovely."

Joe snorted at that. "Look what you had just last night and tell me the truth."

"Mac treated me like a whore without the courtesy of leaving a few euros on the nightstand before he left. You would never do that. You are lovely." That was some naked truth, and if Methos were inclined to release Joe's hands, he'd drain the whole glass in front of him. 

Joe considered for a long, anxiety-filled moment before nodding. "I'll go upstairs with you, old man. Just...don't expect too much. I haven't been with a man in...decades."

As if that could possibly matter. "I want to give you such pleasure that you won't even remember your own bloody name."

Joe shivered at that, at Methos' low, knowing voice, as if imagining what that voice would sound like in his ear, against his skin. "And what about yourself?"

"Joseph, I can promise you that I want you very badly. I want to feel you inside me, filling me up." Making him forget, went unsaid. Making him feel a little more human. 

"We should go. Before I drag you across this bar." When Joe made his mind up about something, there was no moving the man. 

Methos smiled again, lust darkening his eyes as he released Joe's hands and followed him to the stairs behind the stage and up to his flat. They only got halfway there before Methos stopped him and carefully turned him and kissed him for the first time. 

It was a heated kiss, rough slide of lips and opening mouths and questing tongues. Joe slid a hand to one side of Methos face, and the other around his waist, drawing him as close as their position would allow. 

When Methos finally let Joe up for air, he looked up at the man, panting. "Give me a good reason not to suck your cock right here and now."

"Jesus..." Joe kissed him again, briefly but with a tinge of desperation. "Because I'd probably fall down the stairs."

"That would be rather counter the point. C'mon, let's go." He squirmed out of Joe's grip and waited patiently for Joe to turn again and head back up the stairs. How much pain was this man in, every day, all day? Something dark and fierce rose up in him. No more of that. Methos would see to it. 

It was a short trip that took longer because Joe had to be careful, but Methos made sure he knew that he was close behind him without hurrying him. Just a heated presence at his back. Once inside the small flat, they fell into another kiss, and then another, and Methos realised that Joe was slowly leading him back to the bedroom. The bed was pushed flat against the wall, made up and everything. All the better for messing up, Methos thought. 

With his usual lack of body shyness, Methos got rid of his jumper and tee shirt, then turned to Joe to see him staring, fingers stopped on his own buttons. Methos met his eyes and toed off his shoes and socks, and shed his jeans and boxers like they were bothersome and irritating. "You're so fucking beautiful," Joe breathed.

Methos crossed the room to him and picked up where he'd left off on his buttons. "As are you." With his shirt off and tossed across the room on top of Methos' own pile of clothes, Methos ran his greedy hands over Joe's broad, furry chest, finding the little nipples and pinching them gently. 

"Methos...my legs, I..." Joe blushed a little when Methos' wandering hands got to his belt buckle and pulled it open. "I have to..."

"It's better without the prosthetics. I agree." He dropped to one knee and Joe balanced a hand on his shoulder while he divested Joe of boots and socks. "Joe, you're not going to shock me. I'm literally unshockable." He nuzzled at Joe's cock through his jeans while he was down there, because why pass up an opportunity like that?

"Then help me get these off and let me sit on the side of the bed." Joe's voice was rough and a little growly, and Methos heartily approved. Like once he'd been given permission, he would refuse to be embarrassed or shy. Just as it should be, Methos thought. 

"All right, but I can't promise my mouth won't find your cock during these proceedings." Fair warning and all. He unbuttoned and unzipped Joe's jeans and pulled them down along with his underwear. When his cock sprang free, Methos hummed appreciatively and managed to take it into his mouth, which he considered quite a feat of agility on both their parts as Joe stepped out of one leg of his jeans at a time, all the while balancing himself on Methos' shoulders. 

The prosthetics were there, of course, and so was some truly vicious scar tissue disappearing into them. Whatever had taken his legs had ripped them apart. If it weren't for Cord...but Cord was there and Joe was here, and that was all that mattered. Maybe all that mattered in the world, right now.

Joe groaned at the hot suction, and Methos downright pouted when he pulled himself away to sit and divest himself of the prosthetics. Once they were laid aside, he scooted to the middle of he bed and held out a hand. Once upon a time, Methos imagined, he would not have been so forthright about it all. He knew how depressed Joe had been when he'd lost his legs, how he'd slept with a gun under his pillow and contemplated suicide until the Watchers found him.

He was here now. Reaching for Methos. And Methos went to him with a smile on his lips and probably his heart in his eyes because for all he talked a big game, he was shit at hiding his feelings in these moments. He could feel it, crackling in the air around them, that instinct that this was going to change everything. He was about to step off a cliff, and he decided to just jump off it instead.

Methos took Joe's hand in his, twining their fingers as he climbed up to straddle Joe's hips, letting his cock drag against Joe's and provoking low gasps from both of them. "Hello," Methos murmured.

"Hello, beautiful." Joe reached up to cup Methos' face and draw him down for a long, slow kiss. Too sweet, too addictive. Almost, but not quite, too much for Methos' poor heart to handle. 

His hips moved of their own volition, a long, fluid glide that rubbed their cocks together and forced a low moan out of him, right into Joe's waiting mouth. "I'm...supposed to be lavishing you with pleasure, if I remember correctly," he murmured. "Not mindlessly humping you."

"Doesn't feel mindless to me. Feels incredible." Joe's hands slid down to his hips, gripping firmly but gently. "You know, you don't always have to be the perfect courtesan. How long has it been since someone took care of you?"

Damn it, Methos could feel his heart constricting in his chest at those words. He was tired of being a good little whore. "I...don't remember the last time someone wanted me just for me." Not as a caretaker, not as a salve for an open wound - just him. 

"Then how about we take care of each other?" Joe gathered Methos into his arms and held him tightly against his chest. 

Methos nodded and rested his head there, breathing in Joe's scent for what felt like an eternity before his cock reminded him insistently that they were not just there for the cuddles, as nice as they were. He lifted his head and gave Joe a crooked smile. "Still sucking your gorgeous cock, though."

"Good god, don't let me stop you." Joe laughed softly as Methos slithered down his body and engulfed his cock in one hungry swallow. He hadn't really been able to appreciate this earlier, but Joe's cock was perfect. It lay heavy on his tongue and stretched his jaws just right without choking him. Not that he'd let that stop him from burying his nose in the musky coarse hair at the base. 

Joe made helpless little noises as Methos sucked, head bobbing up and down and throat working the length of it. He let himself get lost in the act, the intimacy of it, the sweetness of the sounds Joe was making. He realized he was doing this as much for his own pleasure as for Joe's, and that was like a punch to the gut, in the best possible way.

"Hey, beautiful, bring your ass up here." Joe's voice was hoarse as he reached down to cup the side of Methos' head. "Wanna get you nice and ready."

Methos almost pulled a muscle doing just as Joe asked, because oh yes, please. He hadn't had this in so long, and it felt so fucking good. He straddled Joe's shoulders and let the man squeeze his arse before pulling it apart to bare his hole. Joe apparently wasn't into teasing because he just went for it, slick tongue laving over the crinkled flesh and beard scratching tantalizingly at Methos' inner thighs. 

He had a whole new angle from which to appreciate Joe's cock, and appreciate it he did. Holding the base, he sucked hard just at the tip, letting his tongue explore while the white hot pleasure of a good rimming sent him almost to the edge. Methos could feel his cock dripping precome on Joe's chest, and when Joe's tongue speared inside him, his vision greyed out a little with the effort not to come there and then. 

"Fuck, Joe, yes...please, yes..." Methos let himself go in that moment, surrendered utterly, and he was not being quiet about it. He eventually had to stop sucking and start stroking Joe's spit-slick cock because he just couldn't focus on anything except Joe fucking him with his tongue and making appreciative, hot little noises the whole time. 

"You have the sweetest fucking ass, Methos," Joe growled, backing off only long enough to rummage in the bedside table blindly for a tube of the thick, viscous skin moisturizer he used on his legs. When he returned, he swiped the now open and grasping hole with his tongue and then pressed two very slick fingers inside.

"Joe! Gods, yes...fuck me with your fingers, fucking love your hands..." Methos panted, the painless intrusion a welcome relief. Sure, he healed, but some things you never really want to have to heal from. The guitar calluses felt amazing against the tender inner tissue, and his back arched right up as Joe found his sweet spot and pressed on it. At this point, Methos was just trying to distract himself somehow before he disappointed Joe by losing it right there and then, so he started sucking again, trying to refocus on Joe's cock. 

He cradled Joe's heavy balls in his hand and squeezed them gently, then let just the tips of his fingers graze Joe's hole, provoking a long, loud moan. "Fuck, Methos. You like my fingers inside you?"

Methos pulled off Joe's cock. "Fucking love it, gods, you ready to fuck me? Can't stand it one more minute." He rocked himself forward, losing those fingers but turned on almost beyond endurance when Joe reached down to slick his own prick. This wasn't going to hurt at all. 

Nothing but pleasure in their bed, came the unbidden thought. As if he had a right to think that way.

He turned himself and looked down at Joe's face again, taking in the blown pupils and swollen lips, kissing him again as he steadied Joe's cock and lowered himself down. No, not the slightest hint of pain, just glorious fullness. The kiss ended when he arched his long back and bottomed out on Joe's cock. 

He flexed those well-trained inner muscles and just sat there for a long moment, relishing it, as his rock hard cock twitched and leaked. Joe groaned loudly and drove his hips up, setting a rhythm and watching Methos like he fucking hung the moon. 

Methos met that rhythm, twining his hands with Joe's as he moved sinuously on that perfect prick, moaning and nearly wordless, save for obscenities. "Fill me up so perfectly with this gorgeous cock, fuck..."

"Jesus, Methos, you should fucking see yourself right now." Joe let go of Methos' hands in favor of gripping his hips firmly, thrusting up into each downward rocking motion, until he hit Methos' prostate and made him cry out sharply. 

"Yes, yes, yes," he chanted mindless, rutting himself on Joe's cock and hurtling toward orgasm. "Fill me up, fill me with your come, wanna feel it in me..." 

That was more than Joe could take, it would seem, because his grip tightened and he thrust up particularly hard, sparking off Methos' sweet spot. Methos' climax felt like it scoured through him, erasing everything else, everyone else, until all that was left was Joe, and the hot seed he felt filling him up. 

"Joe, oh gods, Joe," he whispered, pressing his forehead to the other man's and trying to hold Joe inside him as long as possible. 

"Yeah, old man...I know." Joe stroked his sweaty back, pulled him down till Methos' head rested in the crook of his neck. "I could feel it, too." But Methos was leaving, right? Probably forever. 

Finally, Methos pulled off him and managed to find the energy to get a cloth to clean them up a bit before crawling back in bed and settling in as close to Joe as he could get. Joe put a strong arm around his shoulders, and Methos felt the exhaustion of the past night pulling him down. "Gonna fall asleep. Didn't sleep last night." 

Was it only last night that Mac had darkened his door? The fact that it was true didn't make it any less surreal. 

"Sleep, old man. I've got you." And if Joe had had chores or plans that day, apparently they'd promptly evaporated. 

"Thank you," were the last words Methos could manage before he fell deeply asleep, safe and warm. 

The last straggles of the evening sun were shining across Joe's bed when Joe slowly kissed him awake. Or partially awake. Methos didn't do waking up very well. "Don't you have a plane to catch?" His voice tightened on the words, and in the end, it was very easy for Methos to decide.

"Fuck Tibet." And then he rolled over to curl into Joe again, back to front, his firm arse rubbing against Joe's cock. When he found it already hard, his own responded in kind. "Mmm. Yeah, just like this."

Joe rached for the lotion again and pressed slick fingers into him, testing to make sure Methos was still open, still ready. He was, oh gods, so very ready. Joe pressed his top leg forward and murmured, "Legs that go on for miles," before entering him again. 

It was a slow, languid fuck, with Methos turning his head and trading filthy, messy kisses with Joe. By the time they came again, the light had turned grey in the small room and there was an almost reverent silence between them. 

"Fuck Tibet," Joe finally answered, tightening his arms around Methos again. Whatever they were diving headlong into, neither of them wanted to let it go, not for a moment. 

"Mmm, you have a show tonight, yes?" Methos always tried to keep Joe's performance schedule in his head so he never missed a chance to see the man play. 

"Yeah, not till later." Joe pressed kisses to the side of his neck distractingly.

"Then I'm making you dinner. Can't play on an empty stomach." Methos turned in his arms and smiled up at him, aware of just how bare he was in that moment, and not nearly as scared by it as he should be. 

"There might not be much in there to pick from. I'm not exactly a cook." Joe returned that soft smile, running the back of his hand down Methos' cheek.

"Luckily for you, I am. Now, go shower and get yourself ready, and let me work." He made no offer of help - Joe knew how to do those things quite well, thank you very much.

They were still reluctant to be parted, and Methos would have laughed except that it felt too damned good. He busied himself in the kitchen, discovering the makings for omelettes and roasted potatoes. It took Joe a while to navigate the grooming process, but when he came into the kitchen the food was nearly ready. 

"Smells good, Methos." He put his arms around Methos and kissed his neck again. "So, hey. Is this what I think it is?"

Methos turned off the burner on the second omelette and turned to face him. "One benefit of living so long is that I bloody well know when I've gone and fallen in love. I'm yours, for as long as you want me."

"What if I want you until the day I die?" Joe sounded a little choked up. Methos could sympathise. 

"Then that is what you shall have." It was as simple as that, apparently. 

"Mac's going to have an aneurysm." Joe gave him a half smile, delicately bringing up the elephant in the room - namely, Methos' latent feelings for the other Immortal.

"Let him. I know what I want. And if you want it, too, then nothing he can say or do will make one bit of difference." Whatever he felt for Mac, it hurt. It ached, like a bad tooth. "I'm done being his devil."

"You're no devil. You're no angel. But you are mine." Joe stroked his face. "You don't have to hurt anymore."

No, not until the day you die, and I have to live on, came the unbidden and unwelcome thought. Methos pushed it away firmly and smiled. "Sometimes, I just hurt."

"So do I. We'll get through it together." Life had not been kind to either of them - the length of said lifetimes hardly mattered. 

"Then I suggest you eat your dinner and get downstairs. And save me one of the front tables, where I can watch you play and make dastardly plans for you later tonight." Methos quirked a smile and put two plates down on the table. He watched Joe tuck in with a simple happiness - that he'd provided what Joe needed.

After dinner, Joe did disappear downstairs, and Methos showered and changed clothes. He supposed he was still keeping up the Adam Pierson persona, so he opted for an oversized jumper and jeans. His bag was left haphazardly unpacked in the corner of the room as he bounded down the stairs to take his spot and order a beer. 

Joe had just come on stage and begun playing when Methos felt the too-familiar buzz of MacLeod's Quickening. Of bloody course. Mac froze when he saw Methos in the front row, and naturally he assumed he was welcome at the table. He sat down in the chair next to Methos, radiating a variety of emotions. He was always so...chaotic. 

"I thought you were leaving," Mac said quietly. 

"Someone convinced me to stay." From the way Methos' eyes never left Joe even to respond, it was obvious who that someone was. 

"What? No, not you and Joe." Mac didn't seem to know who to be jealous of in this scenario, but jealousy was just the beginning. 

"Me and Joe," Methos affirmed agreeably. "Spent all day locked in his bedroom, so I'd say we're off to a stellar beginning."

"How can you drag him into all of your mess?" Mac looked disgusted and vaguely dyspeptic. "You're going to get him killed. Or break his heart. Or both."

"Because I'm your monster who lives in the shadows and will steal small children if they don't behave?" Methos kept his voice low, and his eyes on Joe.

"Look, after last night, I can kind of say I'm starting to understand. Not approve, but understand. But if you're playing your games with Joe, I will take your head myself." It was a naked threat - Mac didn't threaten by half-measures.

"I don't know what games you're talking about. We loved each other, and now we're in love with each other. It's...the simplest thing in the world, Mac. Now shut up and let me listen." Because for all the complex emotions Mac stirred in him, all he wanted right now was to sit, drink his beer, and watch his lover play. 

Mac wasn't inclined to give an inch or relinquish his spot at the table. Not even when Joe met Methos' eyes and played just for him. Joe was sending Mac a not-so-subtle message - that he loved Methos, and everything he did right now was for him. 

In the end, Mac left before intermission, before he'd had the chance to actually see them together. In both the literal and figurative sense of the word. Methos supposed he left because, in the end, the longer he remained in denial the better. 

When Joe eased himself into Mac's empty seat, he leaned toward Methos. "So did Himself have a tantrum?"

"Minor and manageable. I doubt he'll be coming around quite as much - I don't think he likes the idea of seeing us together." Methos took Joe's hand and ran his thumbs across his knuckles, not caring who saw. Everyone saw. 

Joe crossed the small distance and kissed him, in front of the whole club. 

"So, I was thinking, Joseph. Neither of our flats are suitable. Let's go shopping for one that is." It wasn't often that Methos considered opening up all of his many bank accounts and money reserves, but for Joe? The sky was the limit.

**Author's Note:**

> The title is pure Methos snark. I mean no disrespect to Tibet or Tibetans, whom I am sure are lovely people. 
> 
> Also, look forward to more of Joe/Methos, it's going to be quite the ride.


End file.
